


are in the dark

by orphan_account



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-19
Updated: 2013-03-19
Packaged: 2017-12-05 19:49:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,726
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/727255
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>She tries to flinch back but only bumps into the restraints on her wrists, curves as cold as the eyes watching her, cataloguing reactions as Ariadne might note ornaments on a roof.</i>
</p>
<p>(Projections deliver what their creators desire.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	are in the dark

That death is not imminent makes jumping easier. The concrete coming up toward her feels less embrace, though, than it does slivers of bone spiking through her skin. Ariadne knows that she's falling through the vortex, this isn't jumping, only why deny herself agency before she becomes another jumble of refuse in limbo and Mal says, "That's not what you expected, was it."

 

-

 

Ariadne realizes the room is barren at the same time she tilts her head down and finds Mal's lips under her chin. "The kick." Her toes wriggle of their own accord as if to demonstrate. As her eyes follow the lines of her veins up her legs they catch on metal, an unnatural grey against her skin. She tries to flinch back but only bumps into the restraints on her wrists, curves as cold as the eyes watching her, cataloguing reactions as Ariadne might note ornaments on a roof.

"What do you know of kicks, Ariadne?" Cheek to cheek, now, so she can see when Mal dimples. Then face to face, so that when Mal tries to kiss her she can butt her head forward, jab with what is admittedly not a very sharp nose, and miss, setting her tormenter laughing. She blushes but feels compelled to answer.

"Cobb said I just had to jump, inner-ear function, it was the kick."

"Does this falling kick you out?" It comes as no surprise when she collapses against Mal's belly, the chains holding her arms up cut by no visible implement. Both of Mal's hands are gliding under her shirt. A hawk might reach, just so, to tear the throats out of its prey. She can't bring herself to struggle, somehow, even though the adrenaline from seeing Mal (above? back?) coils tight in her stomach. "Do you trust Cobb? He didn't know. What he was doing to Mal."

Something in her remembers to push this thing that isn't Mal away. The projection tucks her raised hand under its elbow so the sequins of its dress scratch at her palm, scratch, scratch, reality trying to prick at her conscience and not quite succeeding. "Who are you then?"

"What you know of Mal. The tingle beneath your skin," she says, pinching at the place where Ariadne's skin wraps closest to her hipbone. "Your blood rises to meet me, it knows-" and yes, heat in Mal's fingers, heat pools everywhere they touch, "You are nothing innocent. You know who I am."

It would be easier to scramble away if Mal would stop caressing her thigh. "Cobb's projection. You aren't supposed to be here. Why are you?"

"Your child," Mal answers. "Those men, what was it they said- nothing but what was left behind by someone who's been here before. Who's been here before?" She unwinds herself from around Ariadne and steps to one of the walls. A window slashes itself out of the blankness as she gestures; the view outside is endless fog, nowhere Ariadne can remember. "Just you, so you know I'm only giving you what you want."

 

-

 

The knife slips easily through her shirt and pants. She tenses but her legs wobble like wet noodles. Mal kicks at a knee; Ariadne's stomach and feet drop from under her and she's hanging from the steel crescents emblazoning themselves into her wrists. (The etching of those crescents is like sketching a dome onto a building: there has to be something underneath to support her. She isn't sure if there is.)

She clings to those pressure points: she chained me down. The knowledge doesn't help her cross her legs any quicker when Mal displays her first weapon. It's in the shape of an elongated, bumpy egg, and surely that thing is not meant to come any closer to her body-

"You are so full of false security." Mal strokes the tip of the thing, now buzzing, along the chain that holds up Ariadne's arms. The vibrations shudder through her in tight waves too fast to distinguish. When they roll down past the flat span of skin across her pelvis she can feel something uncontrollable building and building, and Mal laughs when she shivers in its wake. "Does these make you secure?" She pulls on the chains, wrenching her more upright. "Or do you prefer this one?" She pulls out silicone molded red and fat.

Ariadne knows how to respond to grids, to partners, to baristas, to drunk men on Rue Jean-Baptiste Pigalle informing her how much they want to stick their cocks inside her. The impending proximity of Mal's dildo to her chained thighs unsettles her. "Fuck you." 

Fingers wander, lightly, over her breasts and hips until Ariadne almost thinks she won't act, then her left nipple is a bright torment as Mal twists. "That is on the agenda," she says.

 

-

 

For a few moments after her second orgasm, when the blindness her own pleasure induces has faded and the building of the third isn't quite at unbearable, Ariadne slips into lucidity.

The room is too hot. What little breeze seeps through the window seems occupied with flicking the curls of Mal's hair about her ear while Ariadne burns and burns. 

Fire courses from the bright black vibrator in her cunt up to where her eyes meet Mal's, the only trace of Mal's arousal the dilation of her dark pupils. Her gown sweeps along her curves as regally as ever and her hands brush such controlled circles around Ariadne's clit. Ariadne has never described anything as bright black before but this toy is. Her color perception goes awry every time she clenches on the thing inside her but when she can see, she knows it's black, and it shines, having acquired sheen from Ariadne's wet folds rubbing against its surface.

Her eyes blink. She won't be able to think for long. Soon she'll close her eyes, and her self will pare down to the rough patch that the vibrations keep hitting over and over. Mal will morph from the complex creation that stabbed Cobb near the heart (even if that wasn't Mal, that was filtered already, stripped) into this phantasm that locks into Ariadne's pain/joy and forces her to come over and over again. Mal is down to relentlessness, ruthlessness, and sensuality shedding out of a body fully clothed.

She shifts her dress so an overwhelmed Ariadne can nose at the long triangle exposed by the slit. That almost makes her come right there, Mal is so smooth under her tongue and the musk and warmth that radiate toward her are so alive. What shoves her over the edge is Mal clasping fingers around Ariadne's bound arms, forcing her throat up, pressing her face into Mal's cunt, telling her, "You get what you want" (Ariadne steals a breath before she's overwhelmed by the scent) "I press as hard as you want me to," (Ariadne licks hurried and desperate, maybe she bites down in her whimpers) and Mal rides Ariadne's tongue and drives the dildo stronger and brisker inside. It takes her three fingers; thumb and index play with Ariadne's clit. The combination of breath, fingers, vibration is arrhythmic but Ariadne can only make noises now and then anyways, she screams atonal as she comes again.

She tries to kick when Mal slides back into her. Something cracks, maybe a bone, maybe her resistance, against the chains that throw her back. 

Nothing in her moves besides the helpless tilts of her hips as Mal strokes the vibration over her folds, slow slides from the curve of her ass to her stomach. She wants to arch her back (she does, shameless).

Mal's eyes are dark. Ariadne has no idea what she looks like herself, only that Mal's still rubbing the toy inside her overstimulated body. It's too fat, it hurts now, she tries to say as the speed picks up again, before a moan swallows the words as Mal finds a new angle. "You have been long sheltered." 

The fourth orgasm fucking hurts but she's thrusting herself now against the pain, knowing that she's breaking herself up. There is no respite. Something in her thinks that this convulsion follows the last like a shadow except that shadows are supposed to be weaker and weaker, and she, she's really just waking up.

Her heart stutters as something bursts behind her eyes, her breath stops. Her projection doesn't. 

Or oh, it does, but it takes its sweet time with its

"beautiful girl," Mal says. "What a beautiful fucked up little girl."

Ariadne whispers, "I learn well."

 

-

 

"Where do dreamers go when their dreams are finished with them?"

She is a child. "They..." (cry for their speech gone throats wrecked snivel for something they can't articulate) become the most wicked of children with the evidence of their own sin slinking toward them, Mal's dress sheathing her in the same red as Ariadne's bitten tongue. "Dream a- again, another night."

One side of Mal's lips curls up, a gesture someone like Ariadne before inception could interpret as a smile. "They daydream too."

"Nightmares."

"Days and nights of love and war." It has the smoothness of a line spoken in italics. "Do you want to have what you always dream of?" Mal walks two fingers up Ariadne's thighs, brings it to her own mouth and trails her tongue, once, along the drip of blood and fluid. When she opens her fingers Ariadne can see her, distorted but beautiful, through the film created by Ariadne's debauchery. "Where does this dreamer go?"

Mal flicks her fingers. As Ariadne licks a drop of her own blood off her lips she knows there is one choice. "She follows another dreamer home." Closer and closer Mal comes, those wet fingers as close to her tongue as dusk to evening. "She takes another way to dream, and she dreams again."

"You are developing," Mal says.

 

-

 

(When you trade an evening babysitting his children for a moment with his PASIV, you don't say to the man in mourning, I want to see your dead wife. You almost say, I want to try more. And Mal says, as Ariadne trembles on her knees with a telltale ring around her throat, "Welcome to yourself," and Ariadne doesn't say, "I want to shoot myself out." She doesn't do it that time nor the next nor the next nor the next nor the last, last time.)

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [the kink meme](http://inception-kink.livejournal.com/19632.html?thread=46179504#t46179504). All feedback is treasured.


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